


A New Study

by AnnetheCatDetective



Category: The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across The 8th Dimension (1984)
Genre: (eventually) - Freeform, Buckaroo Banzai is the real gay ally, First Time, M/M, Oops, Sharing Clothes, Tantric Sex, This was supposed to be a PWP, flagrant abuse of the Institute's reading room, romantic duets, shameless flirting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-02 17:15:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15801045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnetheCatDetective/pseuds/AnnetheCatDetective
Summary: New Jersey hasn't been on the team very long, but he's been around long enough to solidify Perfect Tommy's opinion-- he's quite a guy, indeed.The kind of guy you could get into something new with.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (will I ever finish one thing before starting something new? But while I struggle to connect the bits I've written on CitC into a decent chronology, I've also become utterly obsessed with these guys)

    Tantric. Practices.

 

    The words stand out.

 

    The book had been left out on a table in the reading room, abandoned during a recent call to action, which means whoever had been reading through it was likely a resident, anyone else could have kept with their reading. Or, if they abandoned it to have a look at whatever was going down, could go back to it. At the very least, would have put the book away.

 

    Not that Perfect Tommy would normally care. He doesn’t, really. He shelves it on his way to search for something to read himself. He’s well aware of which of his compatriots have… lady friends to impress, or maybe ‘impress’ isn’t the word, but… regardless, he’s not really keen to try to picture it in any case.

 

    He forgets it completely a little ways into Gribbin’s ‘In Search of Schrodinger’s Cat’. He doesn’t think of it again when he is faced with the others around the dinner table, conversation flowing easily between subjects that don’t bring the book to mind. And to be honest, his attention is more on the chicken marsala than the conversation, or maybe more on the man who made it.

 

    Who’d have thought… New Jersey. A neurosurgeon with enough promise in him to merit _Buckaroo_ ’ _s_ bringing him on board in the first place, room in that brain for a myriad of trivia, the most trivial of which usually turned out to be the most useful, capable of filling in on piano if the band needed him-- and at least for now, they do-- and on top of all that, he cooks.

 

    And on top of _that_ , the height-- how much of the man was leg, anyway?-- the big, dark, soulful eyes, the full lips… Those hands, definitely those hands.

 

    The fact that he had been _flustered_ , that last op.

 

    The problem with perfection is, it knows no gender. Perfect Tommy had run into trouble before, a specific and embarrassing variety of trouble, wherein perfectly heterosexual guys would get flustered, or stare a little, or get a certain dizzy kind of smile. In short, display every sign of having a personal interest in him. He’d chalk it up to stardom if it hadn’t been happening since before he ever hooked up with Buckaroo and the Cavaliers. Charisma, then. And he could flirt to about a certain level and get all the right signs back, but there was always that invisible line, and a guy could get weird fast once you hit that.

 

    Most guys, though, if he was careful not to push any flirtation, would get over it after a little while and then things would be normal. Which was sometimes a shame but usually just fine. They’d grow accustomed to the reality of Perfect Tommy and said charisma, and the dizzy looks would stop.

 

    New Jersey hadn’t started out especially flustered, either, beyond his being a little anxious when he’d first joined the group. There hadn’t been much to it that felt personal. Instead of starting out a little dumbstruck and getting to be normal, though, if anything New Jersey was going the other direction. They’d been out there, on the trail of one of the meanest and nastiest the World Crime League had to throw at them, over rough terrain and through largely-unspoiled wilderness, and while they’d eventually come out on top, they’d been dragged through the mud first.

 

    In New Jersey’s case, it had been literal.

 

    He’d cleaned himself up to the best of his ability, with that formerly-pristine white bandanna, shoved it into his pocket with an exaggerated moue of disgust before looking around sheepishly to the rest of them, and Perfect Tommy had stepped in close without thinking.

 

    ‘You wanna borrow mine?’, he’d said, had slipped it off and looked up at New Jersey, smiled and tried to gauge the meaning behind the way New Jersey gaped at him.

 

    And he’d hemmed and hawed and said ‘okay’ and ‘sure’ and ‘yes’ and about fifty variations on ‘oh’, had let out this nervous little laugh that let Perfect Tommy start to hope, and he’d let their hands touch just a little on the transfer, even though he could have avoided it.

 

    New Jersey had said ‘gosh’-- had honestly opened his mouth and said ‘gosh’-- in the moment that Perfect Tommy turned away from him at last. Reno had slapped him on the back and told him it happened to everyone at first. Buckaroo had whispered to Perfect Tommy, when the two of them had pulled ahead, to take it easy on the new guy, maybe turn down the charm a little bit and let the poor boy adjust.

   

    It was a fair request. The last thing Perfect Tommy wanted was to distract him when they closed in, anyway, he’d need to be sharp, they all would. And Buckaroo had no reason to think it was anything other than a little teasing hand in hand with a little odd solicitousness. Perfect Tommy wasn’t really a flirt, so much as occasionally wildly charming in a manner that could be helped if he noticed he was doing it, but it wasn’t a choice, it was just nature. His nature had always been mercurial, shifting to fit the moment. Charm was just a part of it. Flirting, he'd learned, it was usually best to avoid if you didn't know for certain.

 

    He hadn’t been able to get that ‘gosh’ out of his head. Not when they hiked through the foothills on the trail of their enemy operative, not when they’d come across one of those few-and-far-between spots designed for campers, and they hadn’t set up too near it, wanting to keep a low profile, they’d set up under the cover of plenty of underbrush and decided on a watch-keeping schedule. But there had been one of those little areas, with a spigot for filling canteens, proper toilets and showers. Things to take advantage of as long as they were stopped, while they got their bearings and their rest.

 

    He definitely hadn’t been able to get that ‘gosh’ out of his head lurking around keeping watch and uncomfortably, acutely aware of New Jersey showering not ten feet away from where he stood. He’d been quick about it, none of them wasted any time about anything when it came to making that night’s camp and moving out in the morning, but…

 

    Well, only New Jersey had to wash dried mud out of his hair and Perfect Tommy had developed a few mental images. Water cascading down that long, lean body, how his hair must look wet, perhaps a moment of relaxation crossing his face… There were places he had kept his mind’s eye from drifting, but only through sheer, desperate force of will.

 

    And then New Jersey had found him after, held out the borrowed bandanna, question in his eyes, wet hair curling, haloed by the dim golden light of the sodium arc lamp just outside the showers.

 

    New Jersey’s, rinsed out, was hanging to dry near their campsite, there was no good reason not to take his own back. He’d done so wordlessly, hands brushing again. They’d slipped back into the cover provided by the trees, the darkness away from the rest area.

 

    He slept with his hat over his face, in the little lean-to they’d erected. Perfect Tommy couldn’t say why that was so charming, but it was. Like he’d picked it up from some western film or other and taken to the practice, he could imagine him doing the same in bed. Hands folded over his middle, ankles crossed, snoring softly into his ten gallon hat.

 

    Perfect Tommy had wondered, idly, about what it smelled like, sleeping with your nose inside your hat, but it was one of a dozen odd idle thoughts to come and go that night.

 

    Anyway. The operation had been successful. New Jersey had been… he’d been something. A man of action, if only for a moment, but that moment had been enough. He’d joked about it after, said he had to redeem himself after the day before, with the mud, but he’d been quick enough to save Perfect Tommy coming home with a brand new scar.

 

    And so now, here they are, back at the Institute and Perfect Tommy is still thinking about that soft little ‘gosh’, and the warmth of long, clever fingers through a bandanna, and the way he ducks his head and grins and blushes over too much praise for his cooking.

 

    “Secret’s just that I, uh, I substituted more olive oil in for the butter, but it’s really nothing, nothing special.” He protests, but he looks pleased with himself.

 

    So he’s got it bad. And New Jersey seems different from the guys he’s fooled himself over in the past, but it’s never been this important not to get it wrong. He goes to bed thinking of him, he wakes up thinking of him. Bad.

 

    When he heads to the reading room to get a little farther into Gribbin, New Jersey is already there, settled in with an enormous text on neuroscience, long legs stretched out in front of him. Perfect Tommy drops into the seat opposite, giving him a nod and a smile before getting to his own reading. It’s a comfortable quiet between them, interrupted by the occasional turned page.

 

    After a few minutes, Tommy looks at the space between them-- such as it is-- and chances stretching out his own legs, until one foot just barely nudges at New Jersey’s.

   

    “Oh-- Sorry, was I taking up the whole--?”

 

    “You’re fine, Doc.” He pulls back a little. “That one’s on me, you’ve got room.”

 

    “You sure?”

 

    “Relax.” Perfect Tommy nods, smiling when New Jersey does. He lets himself rest at a point where they could almost touch, and don’t quite. That’s comfortable, too, that not-quite. He reads another paragraph, looks up again.

   

    Sees New Jersey turn a page, but not in the heavy neuroscience text. Something inside the neuroscience text. Something a lot smaller.

 

    “You got a comic book hiding in there, Doc? The things they let you get away with when you’re at the top of the class, huh?” He teases, and New Jersey’s eyes snap up, wide. Hell, he blushes straight to the tips of his ears. “Relax, man. Your secret’s safe with me.”

 

    New Jersey’s mouth opens and closes a couple times, before he nods and buries himself back in his reading.

 

    Maybe not a comic book, maybe an airport novel, or a beginner’s guide to some subject or skill he’s embarrassed not to know, but Perfect Tommy doesn’t pry.

 

    It’s another long, quiet spell before there’s a pause in the rhythm of the page turning, and he looks up before New Jersey can speak-- just in time to see him take in a breath to start.

   

    “Ah, Perfect Tommy? Are you busy after… this?”

 

    “Not too busy now. You need me for something?”

 

    “Oh-- Well-- I was just…” He swallows, setting his book aside-- and whatever the book inside it is, it’s enough to be visible with the neuroscience text closed around it. “I had a, a project, and I was hoping for some company, if-- And it’s about time to get back to it, and I thought maybe if you were free… I mean, it won’t really be-- it’s just the next step and then there’s-- But if you were free, I just thought I would ask.”

 

    “Might not understand much, but if all you want is company.” Perfect Tommy nods, rising to his feet.

 

    “It’s a culinary project, not a scientific project.”

 

    “Still might not understand much, but I could be a lot more appreciative.”

 

    “Great. Great.”

 

    “I’ll just reshelve this.”

 

    “Great.” New Jersey repeats, nodding. He’s waiting over by the door when Perfect Tommy does get his book shelved, bouncing on the balls of his feet, looking as awkward and eager as the day they met.

 

    A little more flustered. Which is interesting.

 

    New Jersey’s project, as it turns out, is cinnamon rolls. Of course it is-- why he ever thought it was anything else eludes him the moment they reach the kitchen. Perfect Tommy mostly leans against the counter and watches him work with the risen dough. His sleeves rolled up… the look of gentle, relaxed concentration. He talks to him about the book he’s been reading, though he doesn’t get very deep into it. Enough to keep things from being lonely.

 

    “I could bring in a radio, if you’d rather have music than surface level physics stuff.”

 

    “I like listening to you talk fine. I mean-- it’s-- I could’ve dragged a radio in instead of, of company, if…”

 

    “I’d still be keeping you company.” He smiles. “Two seconds. You dance? Passes the time a little better than standing around.”

 

    “A little.” New Jersey nods, chest rising fast on an inhale. That’s what pushes Perfect Tommy on taking a chance, giving him a parting wink.

 

    The rolls are in the oven when he gets back, though he didn’t have to go far to find a radio that could be freely borrowed. He gets them set up, and while he’s about eighty percent sure New Jersey would say yes if he did ask him to dance, he keeps the music quiet, goes back to talking first.

 

    He starts swaying to something, while New Jersey peeks into the oven, something only half catchy, and half over. And then Mony Mony comes on and he turns the volume up a little and gets himself on the beat, beckoning New Jersey to join him. Watching him go from startled and self-conscious to grinning as they get into the groove of it. Establish a little back and forth, a little something. Not touching, but still moving together.

 

    He’s singing along, leaning in, on the verge of reaching for New Jersey’s _waist_ , and he’s well above mezza voce on that last ‘ride your pony’ when Buckaroo walks in and New Jersey pulls away like they had been getting a lot closer than just grinning around song lyrics at each other. Which has maybe got to mean _something_ , but he’d have liked the room to find out.

 

    Buckaroo gives him a _look_ \-- not a look that says ‘take it easy on the new guy’, either. A look that maybe says ‘do I need to ask _him_ to take it easy on _you_?’.

 

    “Sorry. Not to interrupt anything--”

 

    “Nothing to interrupt. Just waiting on the oven!” New Jersey says, way too quickly.

 

    “I can see that.” Buckaroo nods, and he gives Perfect Tommy that look again.

 

    “Just passing the time. Gotta be first in line when they come out.” He says. His innocent act does not quite fly. Not that there’s anything very un-innocent about dancing with a guy. Or about any of what Perfect Tommy would like to do. There’d be nothing un-innocent about sex, if sex were on the table, not between two fully on-board adults. Not for any of the things Perfect Tommy likes, anyway.

 

    “Of course. Smells nice.”

 

    Buckaroo puts a kettle on, leaning against the counter, and he’s nice enough to make himself scarce once he’s got that done with, but the moment’s gone.

 

    That moment might be gone, but the universe isn’t done serving up interesting ways of driving Perfect Tommy crazy. He doesn’t think anything of it, when New Jersey starts mixing together powdered sugar and butter and vanilla, clearly for some kind of frosting situation. He doesn’t even think anything of it when the addition of milk takes it from frosting situation to more of a glaze thing.

 

    He thinks several things, some more emphatically than others, when New Jersey takes a fingerful of said glaze and pops it into his mouth, and there’s just a drop, there at the corner of his lips, when he sucks that finger clean.

 

    His eyes meet Perfect Tommy’s and he goes red again. “Did you, uh, want to offer me a second opinion on this?”

 

    Perfect Tommy nods, sliding in closer. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

 

    “Oh-- uh-- spoon. I should get you a spoon.”

 

    “You could do that.”

 

    “Perfect Tommy, you’re staring. Do I-- did I get something on my face?”

 

    “Just a little.” He taps the corner of his own mouth, mirroring. A little sorry to see it go. “I was going to let you know before you went anywhere else, just… distracted.”

 

    New Jersey licks his lips-- not with the purpose of getting that stray drop, but as a nervous little reflex. He gets a spoon, coating the back of it before handing it over.

 

    It’s about what you could expect sugar, butter, and vanilla to taste like, which is to say, good. Not impressive, maybe, but good. The fact that New Jersey’s gaze is _riveted_ to his mouth is very, very good.

 

    “You dance?” Perfect Tommy holds out a hand. And this is a far cry from the bounce of Mony Mony, the opening strains of Springsteen’s I’m On Fire, sultry and dark. Not exactly slow, but not impossible to slow dance to, either

 

    “A little.” And New Jersey’s hand slides into his, around his. _Big_ hands, delicate and long fingered and broad and strong and just… _everything_ , those hands.

 

    He pulls him in close, _close_ , and it’s the easiest thing in the world to angle his head in just so and then his nose is right there along the side of New Jersey’s throat. He breathes him in, hardly able to pick out the warm skin musk over the aroma of cinnamon rolls filling the air.

 

    He’d never thought about cinnamon rolls smelling particularly sexy before. He is now. He can _feel_ the shiver that runs through New Jersey. That’s definitely something he’s never gotten out of someone strictly heterosexual… Really, if New Jersey was that, he’d have refused this dance. Wouldn’t he have?

 

    “I should… check on the oven…” He says weakly, as the last notes fade away.

 

    “Right. I should let you do that.” Perfect Tommy nods, hand sliding up New Jersey’s back. He breathes him in one last time, before letting go, stepping back.

 

    “There-- there’s maybe five more minutes. Or maybe ten.” New Jersey blurts out. “I-- I don’t have to check. Yet.”

 

    “One more?”

 

    He nods, arms settle around bodies, the two of them fitting back together a little easier on this second go around. It’s not quite made for this, the next song that comes on, they wind up barely moving at all.

 

    “Told you the radio was a good idea.” Perfect Tommy grins, and there’s that shiver again, and the fact that they don’t really need it at this point doesn’t change the fact that it had been.

 

    “Oh, well. I mean…” New Jersey swallows. Hard. He can feel that, too. “I guess that’s why they call you ‘perfect’. Among-- among other reasons.”

 

    “Sure. Among other reasons. How many reasons do you need?”

 

    “I don’t know. Try me. I mean, give me one.”

 

    One more moment right where he is, and then he pulls back slow to meet New Jersey’s eyes. “I’ve been told I have perfect lips.”

 

    “They look very… yes.”

 

    “Sure, if you can judge on looks.”

 

    “Oh-- How would you-- _oh_.” He blinks, leaning back just slightly before leaning in again, with an eager little nod. “I could let you know what I think?”

 

    “Yours is the opinion I’m after.”

 

    Another one of those full-body shivers, his arms tight around Perfect Tommy as he comes close, as he holds very still, and Perfect Tommy can take a hint. It doesn’t take much to meet New Jersey’s mouth, a mouth exactly as soft as it looks, exactly as sweet.

 

    He could go for more, a lot more, but he doesn’t. One soft, sweet little kiss before drawing back.

 

    “Yeah.” New Jersey breathes, nodding. “Perfect.”

 

    “Oh, I’m in there with the champ on that count, darlin’.” He reaches up, thumb tracing along New Jersey’s lower lip. “You wanna try that again?”

 

    “I think we should. Not-- not very scientifically, ah, rigorous, to… to not. Is-- is there somewhere I should put my hands?”

 

    “Just where you normally put them’s fine with me. Or you can leave ‘em right where they’re at.”

 

    “Right.” He glances away, but his arms stay put. He stays pressed up nice and close. “I mean, you could let me know if there’s something better I could be doing with them.”

 

    “Just do what you feel for now. But I’ve got some ideas for later. If you’re interested.”

 

    “Sure, later, sure.”

 

    With one arm around New Jersey’s waist and the other hand moving from caressing his lips to curling around the back of his neck, Perfect Tommy leans up for a second kiss, no deeper or longer than the first. It’s the third, immediately after, that he draws out. And _oh_ , that full-body shiver again, and a sudden, choked little sound at the very first feather-light touch of tongue. He traces the outline of that full lower lip, not sure if that lingering sweetness is on New Jersey’s lips or his own tongue, or entirely his imagination now.

 

    The third kiss turns into a fourth, and this time it isn’t light, the both of them going for it, Perfect Tommy has New Jersey’s lower lip, can feel the hint of teeth against his own top lip in return, and he can’t think of a kiss he’s wanted more, or enjoyed more for getting it.

 

    Then there’s the sound of a kettle being replaced over by the stove that has New Jersey scrambling out of his arms and halfway across the kitchen, and Perfect Tommy turns.

 

    “Sorry.” Buckaroo manages to look more penitent than amused. “Not to interrupt anything--”

 

    “That couldn’t have waited?”

 

    “Gotta be first in line when they come out?” He raises an eyebrow. And there's the 'amused'...

 

    Perfect Tommy groans. He turns to offer New Jersey his own apologies for any embarrassment, concerned when he sees the poor man hyperventilating. Staring off into space and clinging to one of the kitchen cabinets for dear life.

 

    “Jersey? Hey, cowboy, deep breaths.”

 

    “That wasn’t-- I mean, we-- What that looked like--” He says weakly.

 

    “It’s _okay_. I mean… I’m an open secret around here. Preference-wise. Buckaroo’s known I like men long as he’s known me, it’s never been a problem.”

 

    “I’ve known _you_ like men, too, Sid, it really is fine.”

 

    “You-- Really?”

 

    “Since Columbia P and S. I didn’t want to embarrass you bringing it up… Guess I probably should have?”

 

    New Jersey finally looks over at him, really looks, stricken. “What-- How-- I mean-- Do people know, other people?”

 

    “I doubt most people noticed. If they did, they never made a big deal of it then, either. As for anyone here, well, most people will tell you if it’s Perfect Tommy, it doesn’t count--”

 

    “Gee, thanks, boss.”

 

    “--Anyway. If no one’s bothered about him, no one’s going to be bothered about you. But if you don’t want anyone else walking in on any more private exchanges, you might want to save it for a room that smells less like cinnamon rolls. Expect that might attract some company before long.”

 

    “Oh, the oven!” New Jersey whirls around, any distress over being caught forgotten in an instant. The cinnamon rolls are perfectly fine, although they might not have been without the interruption…

 

    “Again, sorry about interrupting.”

 

    New Jersey looks between them, once the cinnamon rolls are seen to-- Perfect Tommy unruffled, if not happy to have been stopped short, Buckaroo utterly unsurprised, and utterly free of judgment.

 

    “No one’s going to be bothered, really?” He asks.

 

    “Not here. You might get teased a little but it won’t be because you’re both men.”

 

    “How did you know? About me, I mean.”

 

    “Just observant, I guess. I saw you go through a few crushes.”

 

    New Jersey winces a little at that. “Was I that bad?”

 

    “You weren’t bad at all. Everyone went through a few crushes at university. I noticed, I never really dwelled on it, more than I thought about anyone else’s. It’s not important in the grand scheme of things-- who we love is a distant secondary consideration, the important thing is _that_ we love, and ideally, that we find the person or persons who love us in return, for what we are.” He shrugs.

 

    ‘Love’ is, perhaps, a little grand for the subject of college crushes and a man you make out with in the kitchen because… Well, Perfect Tommy doesn’t actually know what New Jersey’s reasons are, beyond that they’d been having a good time and he’d offered. Had he hoped for as much, or had he been content with proximity, conversation? Was it some particular moment or some particular quality? He can look at all those times he was flustered or the moments he seemed to suggest he was just as eager to be close or to be alone, but he can’t know the why behind each moment on New Jersey’s side.

 

    ‘Love’ is, perhaps, only a little grand, for the subject of a man you work and travel and fight beside, and bleed beside if you have to, and come home with and read next to and hang around a kitchen with. ‘Love’ isn’t the same as ‘in love’, at least, and while ‘in love’ might be jumping the gun, ‘love’ is not. When you save the world with a guy, when you see the worst and the best he has to offer and you know you’re both dedicated to something bigger than you can say, of course you love him. That’s not just true of New Jersey, that’s been true of all of them, it just hasn’t been romantic before.

 

    He’d like some room to figure it out, figure out what they’re going to be and what New Jersey wants and why he wants it, because the why does matter. Not that he’d say no to being kissed a little more regardless, but he wants to know there’s something about him, something he’s done or said, beyond being handsome and charming and available.

 

    They’re careful around each other for a bit, though there are long looks that might not escape scrutiny. In particular, a held gaze across the table, glaze licked from fingers and a slow grin at the way New Jersey blushes and can’t quite look away, and the others might not know they’ve kissed, but there’s no avoiding the fact that the flirtation is at a level that can’t simply be shrugged off as mere charm.

 

    No point in avoiding it, anyway. They live on top of each other up in the bunkhouse, not a lot of sneaking around possible. If Perfect Tommy was going to get New Jersey into his room at any point, someone was going to know about it, might as well have it out in the open before they get to that point.

 

    They spend the remainder of the day in each other’s orbit, and the evening, never coming so close as to fall into each other’s arms all over again, but never straying far for long, never too much of a wait between a warm word or a longing look, until finally he gets the opportunity to offer to walk New Jersey to his room, hand at the small of his back.

 

    “I’m not busy tomorrow, either.” He says, when they stop at the door. When New Jersey turns to face him and his hand slides to rest at his waist. “In case you were wondering.”

 

    “It crossed my mind. I-- I’d like that. I mean, to not be busy together. Or to be busy together, if we figure something out.”

 

    “Busy together sounds real nice. Jersey…”

 

    “Yeah?” He leans in a little.

 

    “Can I ask… why me? Not to get my ego stroked or anything, just-- call me curious.”

 

    “Curious? I mean, you-- _Gosh_ \-- I mean, why _you_? I feel like I should be asking why me, you-- Isn’t being perfect enough?” He glances away, nervous.

 

    “Yeah. I guess.”

 

    Perfect Tommy’s hand starts to slide away from New Jersey’s waist, only to be caught suddenly, and for all his nerves of a mere moment ago, that hand grabbing his is sure.

 

    “Do you really want to know?” He asks, meeting Perfect Tommy’s eyes again.

 

    “I really want to know.”

 

    “You were patient with me. Every operation I’ve been on, you have been. And I’m not used to it all yet, and I get nervous, but you make me laugh sometimes and I forget to be afraid of… of all this stuff. Even if it’s for half a second, it helps. And sometimes I feel like I’m just embarrassing myself out there, but you… I don’t know. I like working with you. And that’s not everything, I don’t know if that’s even half of it, but-- I like the way I feel when you’re around.”

 

    “I like the way I feel when you’re around, too.” Perfect Tommy smiles, bringing New Jersey’s hand up to his lips. “If you were wondering. And I like looking at you.”

 

    “Really?” He grins.

 

    “What can I say? I like a long, tall drink of water. A pair of big, brown eyes…”

 

    He leans against the doorframe, watching the way New Jersey licks his lips, the way his eyes flicker between their joined hands, Perfect Tommy’s face, the bedroom behind him. Blushing out to his ears again as the moment stretches on.

 

    “I, uh, guess this is goodnight…”

 

    “Guess it is. Sweet dreams, cowboy. I’ll see you in the morning, we can get to all that… not being busy we got planned.”

 

    New Jersey hesitates a moment, and then his free hand comes up to cup Perfect Tommy’s cheek. He waits for the slight flicker of a nod, and then he leans in to press their lips together. Soft, gentle… slow.

 

    “Yeah. Yeah. Um… sweet dreams, then.” He grins, drawing back. Grins even brighter when Perfect Tommy winks at him.

 

    “I think they will be. At least if you’re showing up in them.”

 

    “Wow. Gosh. Uh, yeah.”

 

    One of these nights, he’ll follow New Jersey past the door. Or he’ll drag him into his own room. But not tonight, when it feels right to have that lingering goodbye. It’s too soon, and this can’t be about sex. They’re part of a team, this needs to be about a lot of things. Compatibility. Trust. And the fact that it feels right just to be around each other. That… that puts a smile on his face.

 

    Not just because he’s ‘perfect’-- and Perfect Tommy himself couldn’t honestly say what that means, really-- but because being around him feels nicer than being apart from him. Because while he doesn’t foresee New Jersey complaining about the fact that he’s good looking, that he’s good at the things he’s good at, those weren’t the first things he mentioned. He’d called him patient. Funny. Things no one’s called him before, or at least not in this context.

 

    And he’s thinking about that little ‘gosh’ again, when he lies down in his own bed and turns out the light.

 

\---/-/---

 

    “You sure about this one?” Pinky asks, cornering Perfect Tommy over by the coffee pot.

 

    “About New Jersey? I’m sure.” He smiles.

 

    “You sure? We’ve seen a lot of guys who weren’t…”

 

    “I’m sure about New Jersey. He’s not a lot of guys.”

 

    “Technically true.” Pinky snorts. “He likes you? The Tommy half and not just the Perfect half?”

 

    “Yeah.”

 

    “Okay, then.” He slaps Perfect Tommy’s shoulder, taking his coffee and moving on.

 

    It’s nice to be looked out for, he supposes. He’s made his share of mistakes and the guys have seen enough of those, but… they ought to see by now that New Jersey is different. He’s been with them long enough now, one thing to doubt him after a single op. Then again, there’s a difference between ‘trustworthy teammate’ and… well, this. There’s a big difference there, even if Perfect Tommy couldn’t put it in words exactly what makes it _so_ different to him.

 

    He and New Jersey never really make plans for the day. Not over breakfast, and not really when breakfast is over. They just fall in together. Show off pet projects, do a little more reading in each other’s company, have lunch, wander around the Institute’s grounds, hand brushing hand…

 

    It’s the nicest day Perfect Tommy thinks he’s had in a while. No real pressure to be anything, do anything… just the freedom to spend some time getting to know New Jersey. Getting to feel comfortable relaxing in his company, bit by bit.

 

    They sit together at dinner, leaning in close to talk, to favor each other with smiles that aren’t for anyone else, and even with all the others around, they’re a bit in their own world. Anyone who hadn’t picked up on them the night before sees it now, the way Perfect Tommy’s hand keeps straying over, fingers brushing the back of New Jersey’s, or along his arm. The way they keep exchanging those looks, and how they forget to take in the rest of the room. An entire day and they haven’t run out of things to say, they might never.

 

    After dinner, they manage to pull out of that private world, joining the rest of the guys for cards and conversation, catching up on plans they’d need to be involved in. With that done, Perfect Tommy walks New Jersey to his door again, hand at the small of his back the whole way.

 

    “I guess tomorrow we’re not quite this free.” New Jersey reaches for him the moment they break apart and turn to face each other, hand sliding up Perfect Tommy’s arm. “What’s Buckaroo need you on?”

 

    “Just going over the jetcar. No major modifications or anything, might make a couple tweaks to the suspension if I see something that needs tweaking. I’ll be doing that while you two are in surgery. Guess we’ll see each other at breakfast and dinner.”

 

    “Doesn’t seem like enough.” New Jersey smiles shyly. “I guess today spoiled me.”

 

    “Well, maybe after dinner we’ll get away from the team for a bit.”

 

    “Maybe we will.”

 

    Perfect Tommy’s hands settle at New Jersey’s waist. “So this is goodnight…”

 

    “So it is. Uh, I mean-- Well. Tomorrow’s a busy, a big day, and-- If I didn’t have, if I wasn’t going to be in surgery, I mean, I’d stay up if--”

 

    “But you’re gonna be in surgery.” He nods. “You get your sleep, cowboy. You’ll have me another time.”

 

    New Jersey’s mouth opens, then closes, at ‘have me’, and Perfect Tommy chuckles, leaning up to kiss his chin, right where there’s a mole. From there, it’s just the slightest little tilt to reach his lips-- and that lower lip in particular, he can’t resist drawing that in a little, feeling the full softness of it. Feeling the vibration of a low, low little moan when he nips just lightly, and New Jersey draws his top lip in in return. Moans again, a little louder, when Perfect Tommy’s tongue traces over where his teeth had been. They pull back, angle in a little, meet again with their mouths fitting together perfectly. New Jersey really _doesn’t_ know what to do with his hands… Perfect Tommy moves one to his shoulder, and the other follows suit.

 

    “You’ll do great tomorrow.” He sighs, pulling back.

 

    “You think?”

 

    “I think he wouldn’t ask you if you weren’t the best.”

 

    “Well… you, too, I mean-- With the, the tweaks or, or whatever you have to do. You really-- I mean, I didn’t realize that was, was your project, the jetcar.”

 

    “Not the fancy interdimensional travel part. I just make sure she can hit five hundred miles without shaking apart.”

 

    “Still pretty fancy.”

 

    “Well. We try.” He smiles. His hands leave New Jersey’s waist, moving to smooth out his shirt-- maybe a little bit as an excuse to caress his chest. Toy a little with one of the snaps of his shirt bib. Something about that… he doesn’t know what it is, but there’s something. Having seen it hanging not quite half open, collar loose… it’s the same shirt, and it’s been entirely done up all day, but Perfect Tommy’s seen him just that little bit undone before.

 

    Their eyes meet again, and there’s something there, maybe they’re both thinking about what it could be like if Perfect Tommy did start popping those snaps open. Hell, if he did that, nothing would be stopping him unbuttoning the shirt proper, and if he did that…

 

    If he did that, he’d know whether New Jersey was an undershirt or a no-undershirt man, and maybe once he started there, he wouldn’t stop with just his shirt. But he lets his hands drop.

 

    “See you at breakfast, cowboy.”

 

    “Yeah. Yeah, breakfast. Um, sweet dreams.”

 

    “You too.”

 

    He lingers a moment, takes half a step back and doesn’t tear his eyes from New Jersey’s, watches him fumble to reach behind himself and get his door so that neither of them has to turn away yet.

 

    He’s got it bad, all right. Bad enough that when he flops down into bed himself, he’s not thinking about tearing the man’s shirt off-- well, he is a little, or he’s thinking about undoing every snap and every button very slowly, unwrapping him like the gift that he is, he’d sure like to do that some night soon… More than that, though, he’s thinking about holding one of those big, sure hands in his own. He’s thinking about the way his eyes sparkle when the subject turns to one he’s excited about, the warm amber brown of them like… syrup. Or something equally disgustingly sweet, maybe equally literally sweet, but when the light hit them just right, ‘syrup’ had been his first thought.

 

    He’s thinking about watching him in the kitchen and how it would feel to do that… just forever. Or how it would feel to work side by side, offering each other tastes of things. Working together on something… something that wasn’t life or death or the fate of the world, something just… homey.

 

    He’s spent enough time lying in bed thinking about kissing other men, this is the first time he’s thought about cooking with one.


	2. Chapter 2

    In the morning, Perfect Tommy goes to see New Jersey off-- well, him and Buckaroo both, they’re both going out to the hospital to handle the surgery, one of those numbers most wouldn’t even attempt.

 

    He brings two fingertips just under New Jersey’s chin, tilting him in with the lightest touch so that he can lean up and kiss his cheek.

 

    “That’s for luck.” He says, doing his best not to grin at the way New Jersey goes all flustered and pink-cheeked over it.

 

    “Why, Perfect Tommy, all these years and you’ve never offered to kiss me for luck before surgery.” Buckaroo deadpans.

 

    “All these years and you’ve never asked me. You not feeling lucky today?”

 

    “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you kiss anyone for luck before, I’m tempted to think you’ve got ulterior motives with this man.”

 

    “What gave it away?”

 

    “The kitchen a couple days ago was a pretty good hint. Unless that was for luck, too.”

 

    “Been pretty lucky since then.” Perfect Tommy shrugs.   


    He waves them both off before heading in to get his own work done. The jetcar winds up needing more attention than he’d anticipated-- but apparently so did the day at the hospital, when he does break for lunch, a little asking around tells him New Jersey and Buckaroo aren’t back yet.

 

    A little asking around also has Reno teasing him over it, but, well… Reno likes New Jersey. Even with how their first meeting had gone, he’d taken to New Jersey pretty quickly, and Perfect Tommy imagines he’ll be putting up with some teasing from all the guys over this, but that’s fair. He might mind it if he thought they didn’t approve, but they do.

 

    “You chasing hard after the greenhorn, huh?” Reno drops down into the seat opposite, once Perfect Tommy’s settled in with his lunch.

 

    “I’m not chasing him, I’ve got him.” He shrugs. “And he’s proved himself. Last op, he--”

 

    “I know he has. I’m gonna tell him you’ve been mooning after him all day--”

 

    “All day, I came in and asked _once_ if he and Buckaroo got back--”

 

    “Well, you’ve mooned after him enough.”

 

    “I have not. I don’t ‘moon’, man. I like him, I went after him, I let him know it.”

   

    “Oh, sure. Day after Yoyodyne you weren’t telling me all about how much you like the man. Like I don’t know what that look in your eye meant. Don’t know what he did when he was with you, but you’ve been mooning ever since.”

 

    Perfect Tommy shakes his head. It’s hard to explain. Yoyodyne had been… weird. Most of their threats are earthly, and that one very much wasn’t. And New Jersey… he’d been cute but sort of hopeless, and then suddenly he wasn’t. He wasn’t hopeless or hapless or nervous at all. Perfect Tommy had stayed behind to guard him-- and his patient-- against any stragglers who weren’t on the big ship Buckaroo was going after, not that there had been any, but… he’d stuck with him, anyway, and by the time he’d left him after moving Penny…

 

    He’d liked him enough. He’d told Buckaroo as much, hadn’t been able to wait to tell Buckaroo how much he liked New Jersey, in fact. Maybe he’d mooned a little, but Reno didn’t see him the way Perfect Tommy had-- he’d taken him under his wing when he was green and raw, and maybe he’d been around to watch him develop a little competence and confidence in the field. Perfect Tommy saw him struggling at first and the next time he saw him in action he was a whole other man, it’s different. Sure, he’d seen him put together the wild idea of the non-hoax, but that hadn’t been out in the field, out in the field’s different. Anyone can have it together when he’s in his element at the Institute, takes something else to carry your element with you, and into a place like Yoyodyne, which… Perfect Tommy doesn’t know if it messed with everyone’s head, or if it just felt like it messed with his, or if that was just the natural result of suddenly seeing aliens all over the place, but… he’d held it together because he was practiced in holding it together. New Jersey, this was his first time out, and he’d been…

 

    He’d been cool, there at the end. And he didn’t have to be cool for every job since then, it’s not about that. Every op is different, and you fit into the role you need to take, and New Jersey’s still anxious about field work, unless it’s field medicine, that’s what flips the switch for him. But being anxious doesn’t stop him, either.

 

    It’s all that together, maybe. And all the other things. Whatever it is, okay, so he’s mooned a little. Not like Reno’s got room to talk, way he’s _always_ been around Pecos, anyway.

 

    Heading back to work after lunch means missing New Jersey when he does come in, but it’s not like they have to spend every possible moment glued at the hip, they’ve got time. They’ve got… They’ve got something. They’ve got the way they both brighten when they see each other at dinner, sliding into seats side by side and Perfect Tommy’s hand going to New Jersey’s back, his arm, a very brief touch to his knee, and New Jersey touching back, tapping his arm periodically throughout the conversation that flows around the table, as if every special point he wants to make is just a little more for Perfect Tommy than for anyone else.

 

    Once more, Perfect Tommy walks him to his door when the evening draws to a close, and New Jersey draws him in for a kiss when he does, soft and slow and just a little daring. Sweet enough to raise a little moan out of him, when a very tentative touch of tongue comes into play.

 

    “I should… let you go.” New Jersey leans back, but his arms stay tight around Perfect Tommy’s shoulders. “It’s late.”

 

    “Not too late. If you wanted to say goodnight a little longer.”

 

    “Well, you’re so nice to say goodnight to.” He chuckles, a little nervous. Nerves that fade under gentle, undemanding kisses. His chin, his cheek, his lips at last, but chaste. “I could-- wow-- I could say goodnight to you, uh, all night…”

 

    “You busy much tomorrow?”

 

    “Early morning, I’m afraid. Checking back in with the patient. Afternoon’s all free, though!”

 

    “Then this time, we’ll let the goodnights come to a close.” Perfect Tommy smirks, trailing a fingertip down New Jersey’s chest. “I’ll free up some afternoon for you.”

 

    “If I won’t be any trouble. I’d, I’d like that.”

 

    “Was gonna spend my time practicing with a guitar or with a gun. Your company’d make either one nicer. If you wanna practice with me.”

 

    New Jersey nods, and leans in to kiss him again. “It’s a date. I mean, it’s a plan. I mean, either! Or both!”

 

    “Sure. Take you out, show you how to handle my pistol, head back inside and make beautiful music together?”

 

    There’s that shiver again, like back in the kitchen that very first time he’d held him in his arms, a flutter of the eyelashes and the quick flicker of tongue-tip over lips…

 

    “Perfect Tommy…” He holds on a little tighter, voice breathless and low and utterly intoxicating. “If I didn’t have an early morning, the things you could tempt me into…”

 

    “You’re a walking temptation yourself, doc. I’ll let you get your rest. But… tomorrow afternoon’s a date?”

 

    “Yeah.” He flashes a nervous grin, leans in to steal one last quick peck. “A date.”

 

    There’s… not really much chance of sleep, after that. After hearing _that_ tone in New Jersey’s voice, that _carnality_. The suggestion of just what kind of things he was tempted by, and sure, not all their kisses had been of the chaste variety, but this still feels like things moving up a step. Just what sort of things, specifically, was New Jersey tempted by? A general desire to get off together sometime soon, or did he have _ideas_?

 

    Perfect Tommy doesn’t even bother trying to go to bed. He knows the one thing he’d end up doing, and he’s got plenty of time for that. He might as well get something accomplished with his night. Finish with Gribbin, if he’s sleepless enough, or make headway if he can focus, with the memory of that breathless, low voice in his ear. He might not have much of a head for studying...

 

    Mrs. Johnson is just getting industrious when he reaches the reading room, which says something for the lateness of the hour.

 

    “There any new teenage interns I don’t know about?” She asks him, as he settles in with Gribbin and she gathers up the few things in need of reshelving.

 

    “Be news to me if there was. Why?”

 

    “Because whoever’s been going through every book about sex on the shelf has been trying to hide it. I’ve found books shoved under chair cushions, inside other books… Never where they belong. Creative hiding places, though.”

 

    “Shoved under chair cushions?” Perfect Tommy snorts.

 

    “Shoved under chair cushions, behind the quarterly journals, inside the big book of brain surgery.” She rolls her eyes, but Perfect Tommy feels suddenly… not so amused.

 

    New Jersey. The book on tantric practices, that he’d forgotten about until just this moment, had that been what he’d had hiding inside the neurology text? How many books on sex did the Institute’s reading room even have? It couldn’t be that many. Most of them were probably pretty dull stuff, at least compared to that tantric number. That one might make impressing New Jersey more difficult than he’d anticipated.

 

    How into all this was he? Did he have _moves_? Did he expect Perfect Tommy to have moves? Tommy _has_ moves, he thinks he’s got a pretty good set of moves for a guy with ‘perfect’ in front of his name, but what all even went into ‘tantric practices’? Some kind of kama sutra positioning, or was that its own different thing? With how skittish New Jersey had been that first night in the kitchen he wouldn’t have imagined he’d need to worry about keeping up with him, but…

 

    “I’ll give you a hand re-shelving if you want.” He offers, closing his own book. He’s definitely not concentrating on learning anything about physics tonight. He takes the opportunity to sneak a little look at the book in question, just a glance. The glance is enough to tell him stamina is going to be a big deal…

 

    It’s a lot to think about at even a glance. He’s still thinking about it the next morning, when he sees New Jersey over breakfast-- he couldn’t not think about it. What was the man into exactly and what was he expecting out of Perfect Tommy? And when did he expect it to happen? They’d been getting closer, he’d hinted at something other than a relatively chaste goodnight at the door.

 

    He’s never had to worry about not being enough before. He hadn’t worried about not being enough his first time.

 

    He waves New Jersey off after breakfast, gets in a little work, but his mind keeps wandering back to that book. To where he thinks-- or hopes-- his afternoon might go. When he finally gets New Jersey to himself, his nerves may not be jangling, but they’re there, he can feel the slight tingle of energy, possibility… and for once in his life, he doesn’t greet that tingle with unquestioned confidence.

 

    “So… I believe you, ah, you said something about teaching me to handle your-- that is, to handle _a_ , ah, pistol?” New Jersey greets, finding him on his return

 

    “I did say something about that.” He nods. “C’mon. You know where the targets are set up?”

 

    “Done a little practicing on my own.” New Jersey shrugs, sidling closer. “I’m not, uh, very, very good at it yet. A target is one thing but I mean-- I still don’t-- When we’re up against the real thing, I’m not-- Shooting at a human being is _hard_.”

 

    “Last op you and I went on together, I seem to remember you firing off a shot when it counted.”

 

    “I didn’t hit him.”

 

    “You shook him up enough he didn’t hit me. Look… it is hard. I can’t make it any easier. Even knowing the person you’re aiming at’s real trouble won’t make it an easy thing to learn. Good man’s never gonna like shooting another person, and you got a hippocratic oath to wrestle with on top of that. Fact you’re willing to pick up a gun when we’ve needed you to is… it’s a big thing, I get that. I appreciate it.”

 

    “But-- it does get easier?”

 

    “Against Xan’s goons? Hell yeah, seeing what they do, it gets easier. You can call it preventative medicine if that helps. But it doesn’t get easy all at once. And sometimes it gets easier for one op and then it’s not so easy the next time.”

 

    “I didn’t think I could, at a human being, I didn’t think I could do it at all. But… well. I mean it worked out.” His face colors.

 

    “That it did. I can help you out on the mechanics of it. You got a real steady hand, that’s the most important thing. That’s one of those things I can’t teach.”

 

    “Didn’t feel steady when I was pulling the trigger.”

 

    “Head out to the range and I’ll meet you with the equipment. It’ll feel steady.” Perfect Tommy promises. They split off from each other and he picks up his nine millimeter and some protective earmuffs and meets him out there.

 

    He puts the gun in New Jersey’s hand, walks him through loading her, caresses his hands a little more than he needs to.

 

    “Okay, cowboy, remember-- no shooting from the hip. This ain’t the gunfight at the O.K. Corral. Up like I told you.” He smiles, settling close at New Jersey’s back, peering over his shoulder to look towards the target. “Safety’s on right now-- she’s a squeeze cocker, so… if you’re not squeezing, she’s not cocked.”

 

    “Uh-huh. Okay. Sure, sure.”

 

    Perfect Tommy wraps his hand around New Jersey’s. “Right there, give her a squeeze, you feel that give? You hear that sound? That means we’re good to go. You keep your finger resting on the trigger guard until you’re absolutely ready to shoot. Don’t relax your grip when you’re lining your shot up, but don’t touch that trigger until you’re ready to go.”

 

    “I’m not ready to go.” He squeaks. Just a little.

 

    “That’s fine. Aim’s all mathematics.” His lips brush New Jersey’s collar. “That part comes natural to me, but if it don’t come natural to you, you’ll get a feel for it the more you practice. Bullets don’t travel in a straight line. They leave the chamber going as fast as they go, and they slow down the further they get. So if you’re not up close and personal, you’ve gotta think about trajectory. And you’ve gotta think about the wind. Bullets don’t weigh much, little bit of wind can shift that path. You just learn to feel what the wind’s doing and factor it into the mental math when you’re lining it up. Here… give me your free hand. One finger out.”

 

    It’s absolutely unnecessary, but it’s absolutely fun, to lean forward and wrap his lips around that finger, to pull off _slow_ with a pop.

 

    “You feel which way the wind’s blowing?” Perfect Tommy asks.

 

    “ _Yeah_.”

 

    “How fast is it going?”

 

    “Just fast enough for me. I mean, just-- Good?”

 

    “Good.” He grins, hands moving to settle at New Jersey’s hips. “So you wanna aim a little higher than you think you need to-- not much, just a smidge. And… a smidge to the right, today. Barely, barely… this distance, you barely need to adjust. Now… Deep, slow breaths-- down in the diaphragm, so your shoulders don’t move with it. She don’t got too much kick to her, but you go ahead and put your other hand up top of your forearm-- you don’t brace by holding your arm up from below, up on top. Doesn’t hurt to learn how, and it’s your first time firing this little number, but I really don’t think the recoil’s gonna knock you back any, big guy. She’s gonna handle nice and easy for you. Now… Hold on, I’m gonna grab some protection, and once that’s on, I want you to squeeze down on that trigger, _nice and easy_. You ready?”

 

    “Uh-huh.” New Jersey says, and it comes out a little weak, a little shaky, but his hands are steady.

 

    “You’ve got this. Easy, cowboy…” He slips the shooting earmuffs on for him, and then his own pair, before his hands return to New Jersey’s hips, and on one slow, steady exhale, he squeezes, gentle and easy, and as he does, New Jersey squeezes down on the trigger.

 

    He adjusts his aim slightly, takes another couple of steadying breaths, and squeezes off another shot, then a third. Perfect Tommy squeezes his hips again, waiting for him to take the earmuffs off himself.

 

    “Good job. You wanna go take a look at the damage?”

 

    “You think I did okay?”

 

    “I know you did. C’mon, let’s see it.” He grins, discarding his own earmuffs on the makeshift little shelf between the two of them and the long stretch to the target. He takes the pistol back and sets it there, too, before hooking a finger through New Jersey’s belt loop, tugging him along. They move around the sawhorse shelf, Perfect Tommy walking backwards and drawing New Jersey after him. Grinning up at him, soaking up the way he has all the man’s attention for the moment, at least until they reach the waiting target.

 

    It looks good-- the first shot a little off from where he wanted, the minor adjustment and then the next two in a tight grouping close to the center. Might help that the target’s a round one, not a human silhouette, but even that first shot’s damn good for a man with as little experience as New Jersey has.

 

    “Those steady hands, huh?” He takes one, bringing it up to his lips. “Well, you get results. You can be proud of that.”

 

    “Gosh. Well. If you think…”

 

    “I think what anyone’d think, looking at that. You wanna join me for a little more? Take turns squeezing off a few?” He runs his thumb across New Jersey’s knuckles, where his lips had just been, and watches the color rise to his cheeks. “We could make this a regular thing. Get you used to a few makes and models. You could be a real sharpshooter. Maybe you won’t ever have an easy time looking down the barrel of a gun at another person, no matter how nasty a piece of work they are, but you could get to pull off some trick shots with a little practice.”

 

    “I could get to like practicing.”

 

    “You ever want to try with a rifle, I could show you the ropes. I’ve also got a pump action shotgun you could handle, but I don’t exactly see you toting one of those out into the field. Could still teach you how to handle her, though, if you ever want.”

 

    “Oh, uh… Maybe, maybe next time, if-- if, yes, if we make this a regular thing. I don’t know anything about shotguns. Um, but. So. Pump action, that, that… that means something, then.”

 

    “It means you pump it.” Perfect Tommy laughs softly, letting go of New Jersey’s hand to mime the action. “If you can handle brain surgery I think you can handle the ins and outs of any gun I put in your hands there, doc.”

 

    “Well, you’ll have to, uh, you’ll have to show me.” He licks his lips, eyes glued to Perfect Tommy's hands. “I mean I might need a little… guidance, with that, uh, pump action.”

 

    “Oh, I can be as hands-on as you need me to be.”

 

    “Very. Please. I mean-- just, until I’ve got the hang of it.”

 

    “Sure, until then.” His hand goes to New Jersey’s waist, resting there a moment before sliding to the small of his back. They walk back to the end of the row, where he takes his own turn to fire off a couple of shots, before handing the gun back over.

 

    New Jersey can’t watch the way his mind works when he lines his own shots up, can only see the actions he takes, but still. He does fine on the verbal explanation, and if he asked, Perfect Tommy could diagram it all out later. They’re pretty well matched on the target range, as New Jersey gets the hang of things-- he might not have gained much confidence from his solo practice, but he's a better shot than he'd thought he was, and he only gets better with a little help. Even with the occasional distraction...

 

    “Might as well break here.” Perfect Tommy says, after they’ve passed the gun back and forth a few times between them, reloaded it a couple times. “One problem with this model is she tends to overheat with too much use. Only problem, really.”

 

    “Oh, sure. Well, who doesn’t overheat after a little too much squeeze-cocking?” New Jersey quips, though he immediately turns away, ducking his head and running a hand over his face.

 

    “Sure, overheated, ready to fire.” He laughs, leaning in. “Lot of things can happen with enough squeeze-cocking.”

 

    “I can’t believe I said that.”

 

    “No, no, it’s-- you’re cute. You can use your lines on me any time.”

 

    “I don’t think I have lines. I think that was a fluke.”

 

    “Well. In that case, I’ll get this cleaned up and back where it belongs and meet you at the piano? You run through your scales, I’ll brush up on my fingering, and we can figure out a duet and practice?”

 

    “Yeah. I’ll, I’ll meet you there, _great_.”

 

    Perfect Tommy snakes an arm around New Jersey’s waist, tugging him in and leaning up to kiss his cheek. “Great.”

 

    New Jersey leans after him, nuzzling at his cheek just a moment, lips gracing the little pair of beauty marks.

 

    “Great.” He whispers, and he lingers a long moment before drawing back. “I, uh, I’ll see you there, then.”

 

    “Won’t be a minute.”

 

    He lets the man go, much as he wants to just keep holding onto him. Gets everything returned to the right spot, before hustling up to get his guitar and join New Jersey at the piano. Finds him already picking out a tune, and when he looks up to meet Perfect Tommy’s eyes, the tune dies off with a flourish.

 

    “Pull up a seat?” He smiles, warm.

 

    Perfect Tommy does, getting plugged in, getting a stool moved over near the piano.

 

    “I usually play standing. Little known fact, secret to rhythm guitar is all in the hips.”

 

    “Not in the hands?”

 

    “Well, fingering is definitely important, but yeah, it’s all in the hips. You get in the right stance, get the guitar resting right against your hips, low and comfortable, and then you rock back and forth with it on the beat, it’s all about the hip action.”

 

    “Next time you can, uh, show me that.” New Jersey licks his lips. “Piano doesn’t have a lot of hip action. None, really.”

 

    “Well, hands like yours, what else could a man ask for?”

 

    “Flatterer.” He ducks his head, grinning. He waits for Perfect Tommy to tune up, before tentatively starting in on something-- one he’s practiced with the whole band, filling in for Rawhide while he’s using his near death experience to pull off some deep undercover work. Easy enough for Tommy to join in on, and they find a sound of their own, with the piano and single guitar.

 

    They run through a few songs from the band’s repertoire, just the two of them, sometimes changing the tempo a little, or adding a flourish here or there, until Perfect Tommy gently sets his guitar aside, moving to the piano bench.

 

    “Take a little break with me?” He grins, leaning in close, hand moving to the small of New Jersey’s back.

 

    “Perfect Tommy…”

 

    “You know you can just call me ‘Tommy’. I mean… number of times we’ve kissed… not to mention the number of times I’d like to yet...”

 

    “Tommy. Well-- if, I mean, if you call me Sidney.” And Sidney-- _Sidney_!-- grins back, sweet and nervous.

 

    “ _Sidney_.” He whispers, coming in near enough so his lips can brush the hinge of his jaw. “Can I let you in on a little secret here, Sidney?”

 

    “Uh-huh.” He nods. Swallows, hard.

 

    “Well… between you and me… and as long as we’re on a real first name basis and all… can I admit that not everything about me is perfect?”

 

    “Oh, I wouldn’t believe you…” Sidney winds his arms around him, and he pulls back just enough to find Tommy’s lips for a kiss.

 

    “Most things, sure. But I mean… perfection’s a high bar. I wouldn’t want to disappoint you, if something fell a little short.”

 

    “You couldn’t disappoint me.” He shakes his head, and kisses Tommy again, and Tommy can’t help but kiss back.

 

    “Oh, sure, it’s easy to say that _now,_ when I’ve been perfect all day, but--”

 

    “You couldn’t. Tommy, I know you’re a, a human being. I’m telling you, I won’t be disappointed by that. I don’t want you to be something untouchable. I just want you.”

 

    “I just want you.” Tommy echoes, his other hand coming up to cup Sidney’s face. “Sidney…”

   

    “Tommy?”

 

    “I _want_ you. I’ve wanted you-- _damn_ , I’ve wanted you-- a while now…”

 

    “Since the kitchen, or-- Wait, since that last op?”

 

    “Since that _first_ op. Little bit. But yeah, a lot more since that last one. You blame me?”

 

    “I-- I don’t know. I didn’t think I was so-- I didn’t realize you were-- I mean, you… you lent me that bandanna, I just-- I just thought I must have made a complete fool of myself over you, you know, I was…”

 

    “No, not at all. I liked seeing you in something of mine.”

 

    “Oh. Wow. Ah-huh, uh-huh, well. I mean… _gosh_.” Sidney blinks. “I hadn’t thought of it like that, uh, so, so… I mean, so maybe, what we could do is, we could… we could make that happen without me getting dragged through the mud first? If you like that.”

 

    “I can think of something of mine I’d like to see you in right now.”

 

    “Do you-- do you think I’ll fit?”

 

    “In my bed? Yeah.” Tommy smirks. Sidney goggles at him a long moment, face getting redder.

 

    “ _Oh_. Oh, Tommy, that--”

 

    “Yeah?”

 

    Sidney nods. “Yeah. Tonight? Or-- or--” He swallows. “Or right now?”

 

    “Why wait?”

 

    He gets to his feet, giving Sidney a hand up before tugging him in close, to make the walk to the bunkhouse with his arm around Sidney’s waist. The nerves that had relaxed considerably while out shooting and then playing music together are back, but quieter. Manageable. Sidney isn’t expecting him to be untouchable, doesn’t want him to be only perfect. And he does want to be perfect for him, but the thought that he doesn’t need to be?

 

    That’s new.

 

    He thinks he likes it.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy finally does drag Sidney back to his room, where they both enjoy the pleasant surprises that come with a new relationship.

    Tommy escorts Sidney inside his room-- at last! How can it feel like he’s waited so long when they’ve only just begun?-- and Sidney looks around, wide eyed. Fairly spartan as far as decor goes-- he doesn’t really spend much time there-- but the bed is comfortable, the sheets are satin. He might not spend enough time to bother putting things up on the walls but for the time he spends in bed, it’s a little luxury he grants himself. Some comfort at the end of what might be a long day or a long op spent far from home. Pictures he mostly keeps pinned up over his usual workstation, where he spends a lot more waking hours. Everything in his room in the bunkhouse is set up for relaxation and sleep. And maybe just for a little sensuality...

 

    “ _Oh_.”

   

    “Not much, but it’s home.” Tommy shrugs.

 

    “No, it-- It looks like-- I mean-- Just, oh.”

 

    “Kick off your boots and stay a while?”

 

    Sidney nods, does just that and trips over himself. Tommy catches him around the waist, though at that point it’s easier to slow his descent and angle him towards the bed than to right him, and more convenient given the general goal. He gets rid of his own shoes in record time so that he can join him in moving to actually get comfortable in the center of the bed, one hand returning to his waist once they’re there, the other grabbing his hat and moving it to hang off the bedpost.

 

    He’s so  much more aware of his nerves than he ever has been before-- well, where sex is concerned, anyway. Sidney’s looking up at him, eyes wide and dark, lips parted, still too-neat and buttoned up, but… But they’re here, Tommy’s bed, and when his hand slips down to curl around Sidney’s hip, Sidney reaches up to cup his cheek, to urge him in for a kiss.

 

    He’s _trembling_. For a moment, Tommy thinks it has to be him, because the hand on his cheek stays firm and steady, but it’s Sidney. Lying beneath him, breath shuddery, trembling at a kiss.

 

    “Sidney?” He whispers, giving his hip a gentle squeeze. “Nervous or excited, cowboy?”

 

    “Both?” He squeaks the word out, clears his throat.

 

    “Sure, sure… me, too.” Tommy nuzzles gently at his cheek. “Is this too soon?”

 

    “No, oh, gosh no, no, I-- Definitely not too soon. _Definitely_ more excited. I just-- I want to show you a good time.”

 

    “You will.” He smiles, slow, pulling back to meet Sidney’s eyes. “I want to show you a good time, too. And I will… Hell, I’ve been dreaming about this, and here you are…”

 

    “I don’t think _you_ have to be _nervous_ , I mean-- I don’t exactly-- that is--” Sidney flushes, glancing away. “I don’t have a wealth of experience to-- I mean, and here I am?”

 

    Tommy’s brain spins around this. Sidney doesn’t have a wealth of experience. Sidney… doesn’t have a wealth of experience. Well it would have been a little weird if he’d had a bunch of advanced moves and still didn’t know what to do with his hands while they kissed, but Tommy had figured out the book thing and he hasn’t been able to think straight since.

 

    Maybe it’s a little too self-serving to think Sidney might have been reading up on _tantric practices_ in the hopes of impressing _him_. But the thought is certainly there. They’d danced around each other a little, Sidney had been reading that book or one like it before inviting him to the kitchen, why not imagine he had been planning a seduction and nerves got the best of him after they were interrupted? The moment gone, they hadn’t gone to bed together that night, but they’d kissed at Sidney’s door, and now they’re here.

 

    “What kind of experience are we talking? Just so I know.”

 

    Sidney hesitates, eyes still averted. The flood of relief at realizing Sidney was not some kind of sexual dynamo, some kind of expert in all kinds of _arts,_ quickly gives way to a brand new kind of nerves.

 

    “Am I the first man you’ve…?”

 

    “Is that a problem?”

 

    “Only a problem if you’re straight, but straight guys don’t tend to let me get this far.” Tommy shrugs. “It’s just… it’s a responsibility to be a fella’s first man.”

 

    Sidney does look back up at him at that, startled, amused, confused, his expression transitioning rapidly before settling. “How far do straight guys usually let you get?”

 

    “More flirting than you’d expect. They usually shy away if I lean in for a kiss. It’s-- Dating’s… hard, when you’re generally thought of as perfect. It throws people off, and lines get crossed a little.”

 

    “Oh.” Sidney laughs softly, hand sliding up into Tommy’s hair. “You’re my first. I’m… definitely not straight. And you’re definitely not responsible for-- When everyone else was out having sex for the first time, I was alone studying. I was focused on my academic career. And then my actual career. And… the idea of pursuing other men was-- I never knew how. It was intimidating. I don’t… I didn’t get the, the language of flirting, back then, or know how you could tell the right kind of man to even try with. And I wasn’t someone who… If I got any attention I wasn’t aware of it. My focus was just-- But-- Maybe it’s a responsibility when you’re young and naive like I was back then. But I’m… I’ve got that figured out. Well, maybe not all of it. Figured out maybe when you handed me your bandanna it meant I could-- It meant maybe you were-- I’ve figured out enough stuff. And I’m not a kid, I mean, I’m not emotionally volatile as I was at sixteen, seventeen… not as fragile as I was in my twenties, even. I might be a late bloomer but if my first time isn’t perfect, it’s not going to damage the me I am today.”

 

    “Your first _anyone_?”

 

    “Don’t make me give the speech about responsibility and readiness again.” His lips twitch. “Tommy… I’m a man in his thirties. I’ve been to medical school. I-- I am completely emotionally ready to lose my virginity, I’m nervous because I want to be good, and because I’m aware that studying these things in, in books isn’t the same as, uh, _practical_ knowledge, but I’m not nervous because I think you’ll hurt me. I trust you, I trust you with my _life_ , I-- Why would I trust you any less with, with this?”

 

    “You might be able to teach me a thing or two from all that book studying.” Tommy grins, leaning in again, nerves relaxing now, he thinks for good. “Could be a lot I don’t know. If I teach you some practical basics, you think you’ll let me in on the advanced class?”

 

    “Oh-- gosh-- well, yes, I mean-- I mean… There are some, some interesting-- Once I’ve got those basics down, I’m sure I could, yes.”

 

    “We’ve got all the time in the world… and we’re gonna take the basics nice and slow. If you need me to repeat anything, just to make sure you’ve got it…”

 

    “Oh, I’ll, I’ll let you know.” Sidney nods. “I’ll probably need, uh, a few… a few repeats. Just of everything. To make sure I get it down, get it all, get it all down.”

 

    “I’ll be thorough.” Tommy promises, kissing him. Slow, achingly slow, letting his tongue explore. First just the shape of Sidney’s lips from the outside, before he pushes past even that first tiny bit. They shift to mostly lie side by side, so he’s not worried about keeping his weight off, so he has both hands free, one to curl around Sidney’s neck before sliding back into thick, dark hair, the other starting at his hip a long moment before sliding down his thigh to the knee. Slipping between his legs to slide slowly back up, feeling the growing heat through the denim…

 

    Sidney yelps, Tommy’s hand reaching a definite… definite not-just-a-crease-in-the-denim.

 

    “Sorry.” He slides his hand back down, offering an apologetic peck to the corner of the lips. “I, um… I thought I had a good couple of inches before I had to worry about-- Wow, that’s really all you, huh?”

 

    “Is that… not average?” Sidney bites his lip.

 

    “That is _not_.” Tommy can’t help glancing down. He’s itching to slide his hand back up, too. “That’s… _Sidney_ , I mean… a guy can hope for a lot of things, but _you_ …”

 

    He’s redder than ever, and he moves his own hand down from Tommy’s shoulder to cover the hand on his thigh, shyly guiding it back up that little bit. “You don’t have to apologize, you know. I am in bed with you… I, uh… Really?”

 

    “Really.”

 

    “I always thought it was normal. I mean… It always looks normal with the rest of me. Pro-proportionate, and-- you know, just, normal with the rest of me.”

 

    “ _Sidney_.” Tommy shakes his head. Proportionate, with those long legs, those big hands… He certainly hadn’t thought he’d be any slouch in the size department just based on the rest of him, but… what he’s feeling through Sidney’s jeans is more than he’d given himself the space to dream about.

 

    What Sidney is _encouraging_ him to feel. Something about that is very hot, Sidney the literal blushing virgin giving him direction like this, knowing what he wants. Wanting Tommy. Wanting _Tommy_ , perfection welcome but not required, not expected. Wanting Tommy, messy and nervous and human as any other man might be taking a new lover to bed for the first time.

 

    “I mean you’d tell me the truth, now…” He grins. It’s a nervous grin, brimming with that same shy pleasure, a sweet grin, a little coy. Not so unlike the way he’d smiled at him when they’d first met, when he’d angled in a little towards Tommy alone, before Tommy had split to keep Buckaroo out of trouble, or try to. Walked into county lockup thinking about whether that smile meant something special or if he was that ‘aw shucks’ with just anybody. Beautifully Sidney. He rolls onto his back, and Tommy’s hand stays right with him, Tommy shifts to lean over him.

 

    “One hundred percent.” Tommy licks his lips. His own pants are feeling a little tighter… He gives Sidney a slight squeeze, reveling in the little gasp he lets out and the way his hips buck up into Tommy’s hand. “About time we got these clothes out of the way, don’t you think?”

 

    Sidney nods, and Tommy gives him just one last little squeeze, before he focuses on getting that shirt off, with all the same slow care he had once imagined. Well, it’s not the same shirt, but close enough. He does tend to stick to the style… means Tommy can have just as much fun unwrapping him even if it’s not the exact same shirt he was wearing the day they met, or again so recently, when he’d really solidly embraced the fantasy.

 

    Sidney, as it turns out, is an undershirt sort of guy, the deep vee of the neck showing off just a few dark curls of chest hair. The hollow at the base of his throat proves too much temptation to ignore, Tommy stops in his progress to drop a couple of kisses there before sliding the hem of that undershirt up. Lean muscle of his abdomen… slender, not without some definition, but not really anything to spare on him, not a lot of softness anywhere. Even with what muscle he has, he’d look downright delicate even with the breadth of his shoulders, if not for that little bit of chest hair, and the even more tempting trail leading down from his navel… but there’s that wiry strength, too. Tommy gets the undershirt peeled off and tossed out of the way, revealing even more of that lean muscle, chest and shoulders bared for him now. The small, dark nipples already pebble hard, he traces around the border of one with his thumb, eyes fixed on Sidney’s face.

 

    “You like this?”

 

    “I don’t know yet. Think so.”

 

    “For the record, you ever wanna get a little rough with mine, you can.”

 

    “ _Oh_.” Sidney says, though whether that inflection is for the offer to let him play rough, or for the fact he’s rubbing over Sidney’s in tight little circles, Tommy’s not sure. Gentle, but not slow. He experiments with different touches, with a very light pinch, the slightest tweak, watching Sidney squirm. No rough stuff, for him-- that’s clear enough from his reactions. Not too-light teasing, either.

 

    Sidney’s not particularly enthused about anything Tommy’s hands can do to a nipple, unless that little _oh_ was more for the touch than the idea, but that’s fair enough-- When Tommy bends over him to get his mouth in on the action, he gets a much more favorable reaction, and he’d rather be using his mouth, anyway. Lots of other things his hands could be doing… For now, he lets them just roam aimlessly over smooth skin and crisp curling hair, over lean muscle, the structure of tendon and bone, the beautiful temple that is Sidney’s body here under his touch.

 

    “You’re something else, you know that?” He sighs, lips dragging against Sidney’s chest, words muffled. “Before you ask, something _real_ good.”

 

    Sidney lets out a shuddery breath, fingers playing through Tommy’s hair. “You… you too…”

 

    “This good?”

 

    “ _Yeah_.”

 

    “Mm…” He sighs, nuzzling at the patch of chest hair before moving on to tongue the other nipple. “Good.”

 

    Sidney’s back arches, and Tommy sucks at that nipple a good moment, tests a slight hint of teeth. Another flick of the tongue, and he slides one hand under Sidney, exploring the muscles of his back, too. He gets a soft moan out of him, repeats the little tongue flick before lifting his head.

 

    “Darlin’, I am going to spend the rest of the afternoon getting that noise out of you again…” He grins, hands moving to the waist of Sidney’s jeans, slowly sliding in towards his belt buckle-- right up until Sidney bats at them.

 

    “Unfair, no, you’ve got to catch up.” He laughs, reaching for Tommy and grabbing a handful of the front of his shirt. “C’mere, it’s, it’s my turn, I wanna, I wanna get you.”

 

    “Oh, you got me, cowboy, you got me.” Tommy chuckles. He moves to straddle Sidney’s thighs, giving him the chance to catch him up and shrugging out of his shirt once it’s unbuttoned. Sidney’s hands move to rest at his sides a moment, spread wide, warm… “I’m all yours.”

 

    Sidney lets out a sigh, hands traveling up, moving to caress Tommy’s chest before sliding back down.

 

    “All mine… oh, no one’s ever been all mine before…” He takes one hand back, so he can push himself up, kissing the side of Tommy’s neck. He takes a little time there, before working his way down, directing Tommy to shift with him to make the angle easier. He lips just brush the edge of a nipple, kiss focused on the beauty mark just below.

 

    “You determined to hit every one of those? Think I have one or two more you might find.” He teases.

 

    “Just exploring your points of interest.” He grins, one fingertip circling Tommy’s navel. He glances down to watch the slight twitch of his muscles at the sensation, before trailing up to Tommy’s chest. “So, I can play a little rough, huh?”

 

    “If you want to. I can take a little punishment.”

 

    “But what do you _like_?”

 

    “I like it just like this…” Tommy’s hand returns to Sidney’s chest, to gently roll one still-saliva-wet nipple between his fingers. “Or any of what I did for you earlier, sucking a little… I like teeth, but not hard. I mean hard’s fine, but… There’s a time and place for all of it. But you see what you like doing with me. We’ll have a good time.”

 

    Sidney nods, eyes dark and just burning into Tommy’s, and he slips two fingers past Tommy’s lips, stroking his tongue, holding his gaze. Tommy hums, sucks them in a little deeper, studying the way Sidney’s pupils widen, the slight flicker of his lashes. Sidney withdraws those fingers, slow, giving Tommy’s nipple the same treatment he’d had demonstrated for him.

 

    “Like this?”

 

    “Yeah. Anyone ever tell you you’ve got… the most beautiful hands?”

 

    “Not ‘beautiful’, ah, per se, no. They, uh, get the job done, I’m told.”

 

    “I’ll bet.”

 

    “I mean, they’re… more experienced with a corpus callosotomy than with making love, but I could, I could change that. Well, I’d-- I mean, just in getting better at the one, I’ve, I still have to be able to perform the corpus callosotomy--”

 

    “Sidney?”

 

    “Yes?”

 

    “I’m sure that’s real impressive and you can explain it to me later, but…”

 

    “Right, right. Sorry.” He ducks his head, with a little nervous laugh. “Not sexy.”

 

    “Hey… no, very sexy, that you’re good at all that. But now’s not the best time to try and tell me about it. Imagining the contents of some poor guy’s skull might not be conducive to a good time. But the contents of your skull, that turns me on. Well, you know how I mean.”

 

    Sidney grins, looking back up. “Oh, you like smart guys?”

 

    “Yeah. Takes a pretty smart guy to impress me. _You_ impress me.”

 

    “I like smart guys, too.” He swipes the pad of his thumb over Tommy’s other nipple, dry, a little rougher, though nowhere close to too rough. “I like you.”

 

    “I really wanna get those jeans off you, cowboy.” Tommy leans down, giving him a quick kiss. “Feel like that’s gonna be the smartest thing I do all day.”

 

    Sidney laughs, his hands sliding down to grip at Tommy’s hips, and he cranes his neck, kissing his way from the side of his neck down his chest.

 

    “Yeah, in a minute…” He grins, before latching onto the nipple he’d been teasing. “I’m still exploring…”

 

    “Oh, you explore, then.” Tommy slides his fingers through Sidney’s hair. Thick, silky… he’s never really seen it in disarray. Slightly ruffled, maybe, but never truly _mussed_. The only time he’d ever seen it outside of the usual carefully kempt look was when he’d just come out of the shower… Even when he’d been dragged through the mud, the hair stayed in place pretty well, it was dirty but it kept the same shape. There’s something in the idea of seeing it… _wild_. Wet again, sometime, he’d be very happy to hop in the shower with Sidney, but… just, messy, and because of him.

 

    Sidney seems to be on the same page, if the humming and sighing is any indication. The moment Tommy’s hands are in his hair, he’s responding. And his hands, those big, steady hands, those are everywhere now… sliding across Tommy’s ribcage, up and down his back, digging in firm, just enough to really _feel_ , and he _loves_ that. Loves feeling nerves give way to confidence in the way Sidney touches him, and how he seems to find just the right touch. Reading every little reaction himself, or maybe he just likes what Tommy likes… the physicality of a man, the way a man is put together… Tommy knows guys who like their women strong, sure, but he thinks it’s still different. Hands following different natural paths, feeling the evenness of the playing field when you’re with a guy. And it’s not about throwing your strength around or wanting him to, it’s about feeling _matched_. When Sidney’s grip tightens or he digs in in a near-massage, Tommy feels _matched_. Sidney’s long and lean, he isn’t built quite like Tommy is, but he’s _strong_ , just as strong, but for other things… and won’t it be nice seeing how their different strengths fit?

 

    He gives Sidney’s hair a little tug to pull him off, gently pushing him back on the bed, following him down. Kisses him again, chest pressed to chest, and Sidney’s hands roam over his back again as they make out. Slow and easy, just feeling each other, and he can’t think of the last time he had this with a guy, this kind of closeness, this relaxation, this freedom from someone’s expectations. He’d been performing to expectations for most of his adult life, bedroom activities included.

 

    He grinds down, one slow roll of the hips, making Sidney moan into the kiss, before he pulls back to reach for his belt again.

 

    “You ready?”

 

    Sidney nods, his eyes on Tommy’s face as Tommy works his belt open, his fly. He’s _straining_ at the fabric of his boxers, and he’s _huge_ , Tommy’s mouth is already watering, but he forces a little patience, gets the jeans tugged off and tossed to the side first, Sidney moving with him to make an easier job of it, and then he guides Sidney’s hand to his own belt buckle with a little nod.

 

    “Oh, my turn?” Sidney grins-- a little nervous, but he makes quick work of Tommy’s belt just the same, eases his zipper down with care as he undoes the hook-and-eye up at the top of the trouser fly, and it’s a lot easier to get Tommy’s trousers removed than the somewhat snug-fitting jeans, at which point Tommy is gratified to see Sidney looks just as impressed with the view, even if Tommy isn’t remotely reaching the same length.

 

    He’s dressed to impress, anyway, in minimal briefs that conform to everything, and he’s never been happier to get his underwear exclusively through the International Male catalog as he is seeing the way Sidney look at him now.

 

    “Wow. So… this is-- yeah. And we’re…”

 

    “We’ve got time.”

 

    “I don’t need more time. Really. _Really_.” Sidney laughs. “I just… This is all real, I never thought… I never thought love would be a sure thing for me. I mean-- not-- I just-- Even, physical love, I just… I always thought, maybe it wouldn’t happen. For me. And here you are, and you look… _wow_.”

 

    “Okay, well, drink it in, we can take some time for that without putting the brakes on.” Tommy chuckles, bringing Sidney’s hand up to his lips, turning it in his own. Brushing kisses across the knuckles, the fingertips, the heel of the hand, the palm. “Speaking of ‘wow’, here you are.”

 

    “I mean, I’m not-- Me?”

 

    “You.”

 

    He bites his lip, and tugs Tommy’s hand back towards himself, down to the waistband of his boxers.

 

    “Okay, well, I’m all yours.”

 

    “I’m gonna treat you right, Sidney Zweibel.” He promises, voice soft. “I am, now. I’m gonna show you a whole new world and you’re gonna have a real good time in it.”

 

    “I know you will. I trust you.” Sidney nods.

 

    Tommy tugs the boxers down and Sidney lifts his hips, and then Sidney’s cock is springing free, standing out at a ninety degree angle, except for a slight curve, and years spent measuring things very precisely for various engineering projects has given Tommy a pretty high accuracy when it comes to eyeballing things, not that he relies on eyeballing, but this…

 

    This is ten and a half inches, easy, and _thick_ , and there are too many things he wants to do to this man… When he’d imagined he might hover around eight, he’d wanted to do everything, and _now_ … Not just big, but _perfect_ , everything about him. The shape of him and the way he feels when Tommy can’t help himself wrapping a hand around him, and _fuck_ , he could wrap _both_ hands around him… He licks his lips, feeling the way Sidney’s cock jerks in response to his touch, lets out a shaky breath as he gives him one slow stroke, root to head and back.

 

    “I might have to clear my next day’s schedule for some of the things I want to do with you…”

 

    “Oh, my schedule tomorrow is flexible.”

 

    Tommy chuckles, hand slipping down, cupping Sidney’s balls, feeling the weight and the heat of those, too. “I meant some of the things I want to do with you, I’m gonna need to _recover_ from, but that’s good, too.”

 

    “Tommy…”

 

    “It’s a good thing.” He assures him. “Trust me. You’re so _big_ , Sidney… and I want to do everything to you. I want to do everything for you. I promise-- I’ll show you. I’ll show you how good it all is…”

 

    “I know you will. My turn?” He reaches, hesitant, for Tommy’s waistband, hooks two fingers in when he gets a nod.

 

    Tommy doesn’t imagine himself to be particularly impressive next to Sidney, who’s got a little more than three inches on him, plus that girth, but you wouldn’t know it by the way the man looks at him once he’s got him naked. The way he sucks in a breath as his fingers first tentatively make contact, brushing over the head of Tommy’s cock. A little moment, before he wraps his hand around Tommy, suddenly sure.

 

    “I don’t really _know_ what, what all I want to do.” He flashes Tommy a dizzy grin. “To you. A lot, I guess, I just, I don’t know. I don't _know_. What is there?”

 

    “This is a pretty good start.” Tommy gets his own hand wrapped around Sidney again.

 

    “I mean-- I know _some_ things. I’m not-- I might not have done it before, but I have an _idea_ , I just-- the practical, practical side is… I’m not sure what the… How you want… _Gosh_. You’re beautiful. Can I say that? Is it weird, or-- if I say that, about your…?”

 

    “You can call any part of me beautiful.” He smiles, warm and slow, leaning in to kiss Sidney. “I don’t care if it’s weird. You can call me ‘pretty’, you can call me ‘cute’, you can call me any nice thing you want.”

 

    “Really? You don’t mind--?”

 

    Tommy shakes his head, kisses Sidney again. “If you like me and you wanna say something sweet about me, you go right on ahead. Even if it’s something some other guy would have hangups about.”

 

    “I just like-- I just think-- You feel so good in my hand… wow, _wow_. This is, this is what it’s like, huh?”

 

    “I hate to stop you, darlin’, but I’d like to get more than just my hands on you… if you wanna see what else it can be like. Lie back for me?”

 

    Sidney withdraws his hand, slow, before settling back, grabbing for Tommy’s other pillow to stack up behind him. He spreads his legs, Tommy making himself at home between them, arching his back and watching the way Sidney’s gaze is drawn back to his ass. The way he licks his lips.

 

    “You like the view?” He chuckles. “I promise you, it’s about to get better.”

 

    “I don’t really see how it _can_.”

 

    “Well, you just keep your eyes on me, cowboy. And you tell me if I’m wrong.”

 

    Tommy starts with his tongue. There’s no way he can just take it all in… not without working up to it, and even then, he’d _wreck_ his voice. It’ll be worth it one of these days, but if he has to lay down backing vocals any time this week, he’d better not try to deep throat Sidney.

 

    He _wants_ to, he wants to feel himself pushed to his limits on that cock. But he can practice some self-control. He’ll still be perfectly capable of showing Sidney a good time.

 

    For now, though… He focuses on the taste of Sidney’s skin, the heat, the soft skin and firm flesh… He swirls his tongue around the head, lashes fluttering a little, one hand curled around Sidney’s hip, forearm resting along his thigh, and the other hand in a loose grip around his cock, sliding up and down, still just teasing as he feels him firm further. Sidney watches him, eyes wide, hands fisting in the satin sheets. Watches as Tommy wraps his lips around the head of his cock, just sucking at the tip, laving over it with his tongue all the while. And, _oh_ , the sounds he makes are everything Tommy could have hoped for… holding himself back, but those little sounds keep escaping. Attractive as the whole size thing is, it’s a little bit of a relief to find that this is it, that there’s not any more once he’s fully hard than there was at the halfway point, because he wants to be able to take everything, and he’s only human…

 

    He takes a little more in, but his hand is still doing most of the work, and it’s a little sloppy, but sloppy works, sloppy works, saliva dripping down, grip firmer as he spreads it around.

 

    Tommy hums, and Sidney’s hips buck off the bed before he can stop himself.

 

    “Oh! Oh-- I-- Sorry! Oh, Tommy, I’m--”

 

    He pulls off with a loud, wet pop, grinning and giving Sidney’s hip a squeeze. “You’re fine, cowboy. I’ve got you. You feel me? I’m not going to let you give me more than I can handle. You can move with me. That’s fine, that’s good. I might be a little rusty, but I know what I’m doing.”

 

    “You don’t feel rusty to me. I guess I wouldn’t know the difference…” Sidney laughs, ducking his head. “I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t think, I mean…”

 

    “What can I say? I’m real picky about who I take to bed. Rather go to bed alone than with the wrong guy.”

 

    “Yeah. Yeah-- I-- I get that.” He nods. One hand slowly unclenches from the bedsheets, reaching out for Tommy, fingertips brushing over his cheek. “Waited for the perfect man, myself.”

 

    “Yeah, I found one of those.” Tommy grins a little brighter, before giving the underside of Sidney’s cockhead a slow, wet kiss, tongue teasing at the spot where head and shaft meet. He returns to slowly taking in as much of Sidney as he comfortably can, using his weight on Sidney’s thighs as much as the hold on his hip to keep his thrusts shallow, but encouraging him with hums and moans to move a little.

 

    “ _Wow_.” Sidney touches Tommy’s cheek again, practically whimpers at the feeling of his own cock on the other side. “Oh, Tommy…”

 

    “Mm-hm…” He bobs his eyebrows, earning a breathless little laugh.

 

    “I-- I didn’t know it… it was _this_ good, this much… _better_ … I mean, I-- _gosh_ , I hoped, but _you_...”

 

    Tommy just hums again, eyes sparkling, and he arches his back even more dramatically, watches the way Sidney’s attention flickers between his face and his ass. When his jaw starts to feel a little sore, he pulls off, both hands on Sidney’s cock a while and his tongue everywhere he can get it. The sound Sidney makes when he sucks and licks at his balls is very rewarding, high and breathy, and then Sidney’s fingers play through his hair, tentative at first and firmer when Tommy moans against his skin.

 

    “You can pull a little if you want…” He offers, coming back up to meet Sidney’s eyes.

 

    “Oh, I… I don’t want-- Unless you want me to--?”

 

    “Only if it feels right. Just letting you know you won’t hurt me pulling a little.” He smiles, holding Sidney’s gaze just a moment before dropping his attention back down. Admiring the big, thick cock in his hands, dripping precome now, and something in him responds to that, more than he anticipated.

 

    He makes sure he’s got Sidney’s eyes on his again, before bending his head to lick at the little puddle of fluid, precome and Tommy’s own saliva. There’s something that makes it worth it-- not the taste, but the pheromones underneath, and the way Sidney whines, the muscles in his belly twitching under the touch of Tommy’s tongue, and the way his cock brushes, wet and slick, against Tommy’s cheek and jaw.

 

    He takes him in again, not everything, no, but as much as he can. So good… the moans, the way Sidney’s hips rock up, shallow and easy to handle, easy to work with the bobbing of his head in order to make it as good as it can be for the both of them.

 

    Next time, he’s riding him, fuck, next time he wants all this inside him… He’s going to show him everything, but he knows what he needs next. He’s going to blow Sidney’s mind, sure, but today… well, he’s happy with what he is blowing.

 

    Actually, he probably is also blowing Sidney’s mind. The noises he’s making speak to that. The garbled, floundering warning, and he takes that in stride, swallowing.

 

    He gets Sidney a little cleaned up, conscious of the sensitivity issue, gives him some time to get his breath back and come down to earth-- time he’s happy to spend watching Sidney’s cock slowly soften. There’s something fascinating about that. How big he still is…

 

    “Can I…?” Sidney asks at last, one hand wrapping gentle and warm around the side of Tommy’s neck, before sliding down along his shoulder, to his chest.

 

    “Darlin’, I’m not saying no.” Tommy grins, moving up to the head of the bed to sit beside him, legs falling open as Sidney moves with him, as Sidney’s big hands travel along Tommy’s thighs to spread them a little wider, and the muscles feel taut with anticipation.

 

    “ _Oh_ … you’re so _hard_ … I-- I don’t know, I guess… somehow I thought, with me not touching you it would, uh, go down a little, and we’d start, start over, but I guess--”

 

    “Yeah I stayed pretty hot going down on you. I like doing it.”

 

    “So it’s, it’s fun? I mean I always imagined I’d like to, when I thought about it, not that I-- I mean… But I kind of though I’d want to do it, I just… So it’s fun?”

 

    He reaches out, cupping Sidney’s cheek. “I think so. If you don’t like it in practice how you thought you would in theory, there’s plenty else you can do for me, but I think you’ll have fun. I can grab a condom, if you want. I mean… I know I’m clean and it’s been a while since I’ve been with someone, but it’s always an option if you want.”

 

    Sidney pulls a face, briefly. “I know I don’t like the taste of latex.”

 

    “You’ve never done this before and you know you don’t like the taste of latex?” Tommy laughs.

 

    “Other things are made of latex. I’ve turned a glove into a balloon before, I-- Anyway. If you don’t need one, I don’t need you to have one. I’d rather you not.”

 

    “You’ve turned a glove into a balloon before. Cute, cowboy. Okay, no condom. I’ll warn you when I’m close, we can grab a tissue or something, you don’t gotta worry about swallowing your first time. Just… do whatever you want to. All the things you always thought about, when you thought about how fun it might be.”

 

    Sidney grins at him, scooting around a little and settling into a comfortable position, half in Tommy’s lap. He looks up at him one last time, licking his lips, and then bending his head to start.

 

    The position and angle means there’s not much of a _show_ , but Tommy doesn’t mind-- the important thing is Sidney’s comfort, and Sidney seems very comfortable right where he is. There’s no hesitation to the kisses, the swipes of his tongue. A certain tentativeness now and then as he gets used to what Tommy seems to like, but no fear behind it. That big hand around him and those beautiful lips exploring...

 

    “Oh, darlin’, that’s good…” Tommy encourages, stroking gently through his hair. Sidney sucks at the head of his cock, swirling his tongue over the tip, doing his best to replicate a few of the things Tommy had done for him. “That’s so good, you… you just relax and have fun with me, it’s all good…”

 

    He keeps one hand in Sidney’s hair, the other coming up to massage gently at his jaw. He holds still aside from that, difficult as it is not to rock up into the welcoming wet heat of Sidney’s mouth. That’s more than he’s ready for, but he’s doing more than enough on his own. Spurred on by touch and by moans Tommy doesn’t try to hold back, Sidney takes it upon himself to try everything he can, to take in as much as is comfortable, and for a first time, he is _good_.

 

    Okay, sure, maybe the voluntary dry spell has something to do with how eagerly Tommy is responding, but still, that’s only part of it. Sidney is still picking the act up fast. Humming eagerly when Tommy pets at him, and then his free hand slides under him, squeezing at his ass.

 

    “ _Fuck_ , Sid-- you wanna leave me with some self control here?” Tommy’s voice comes out a little strangled. He very much wants Sidney’s hand on his ass, he wants both of Sidney’s hands on his ass, spreading him open, wants those clever, elegant fingers slicked up and sliding into him, but that’s definitely something for next time… at least, not this time, he’s not about to stop the things that are happening to try and bring up the possibility.

 

    “Mm-mm.” Sidney hums playfully, a little snort of laughter escaping him.

 

    “Ohh, what have I unleashed?”

 

    Sidney takes him in a little deeper, sucking harder, and that’s a good enough answer. Tommy just needs to hang on for the ride.

 

    He urges him off when he’s close, guides Sidney to sit up so that he can lean in and kiss him, Sidney’s hand continuing to move over him. He kisses Sidney for all he’s worth, lets that perfect hand push him over the edge.

 

    “Pretty damn good for your first rodeo…” He pants, resting his head against Sidney’s shoulder, the two of them sitting across from each other, Sidney’s long legs tucked under himself, Tommy’s stretched out to either side of him… Sidney’s clean hand rubs his back a moment, before he eases Tommy up, gesturing for him to pass over a tissue. “You a fast learner with everything?”

 

    “With enough things, I guess.” Sidney laughs softly. He gets Tommy cleaned up, lobbing the tissues towards the wastebasket and just making it in. There’s a slight smear of come left on his hand that he hadn’t noticed before tossing them, and he examines it a long moment.

 

    “Here, I’ll get you another--”

 

    “No, it’s fine.” He shakes his head, giving his hand a darting lick. Making a slight face.

 

    “Next time I’ll get you the tissue. Worse than latex?”

 

    “No! No, really-- It’s just… an acquired taste, maybe?”

 

    “You don’t need to acquire it.” Tommy laughs, dragging Sidney into an embrace.

 

    “I’m sure, I mean, compared to what I’d think of anybody’s, you’re-- I just--”

 

    “Once you get the hang of it, you can swallow without really tasting it so much. Definitely an acquired _skill_. But not hard.”

 

    “I _wanted_ to like it.” Sidney confesses, a note of dejection in his voice. “I wanted to like everything about-- everything.”

 

    “C’mere, cowboy. Lie down with me a minute.” Tommy urges, and Sidney does, the two of them rearranging themselves, Tommy moving to lie in Sidney’s arms, nuzzling in against his throat. “We can hop in the shower in a minute, you want, but… a minute. You have a good first time?”

 

    He feels Sidney nod, feels him swallow. He kisses his throat, breathes in the scent of him as he basks in the post-sex high of it all, as Sidney holds him, their bodies fitting together… It feels like everything with Sidney fits together. Maybe it’s early to decide they do, but so far they _have_.

 

    “Very. I don’t think most people get to have a first time that good.” He laughs. “There’s a benefit to avoiding all the teenage fumbling…”

 

    “And to doing all that studying?”

 

    “Well… I don’t know how much the reading helped me. Did I follow your lead okay?”

 

    “Yeah. You were… everything I needed and more.” Tommy promises. “I just wanted you to have a good time. But… you definitely gave me one, darlin’.”

 

    “I just wanted to-- I mean, when I pictured it, I--” Sidney halts, relaxing slowly as Tommy strokes his arm, nice and slow. “When I pictured it before, I was… better at some things. I know it’s stupid.”

 

    “Well, it takes practice. You picture something special?”

 

    “Pictured liking how you tasted.” Sidney says, words smothered against Tommy’s temple, and he laughs along softly when Tommy does. “No-- I mean, I like how _you_ taste, you just taste like skin but… nicer? No, I pictured being able to show off for you a little, that’s all.”

 

    “You think you didn’t impress me enough? I mean, you impressed me just showing up…” Tommy slips a hand down between them, fondling Sidney’s cock, just briefly. “But you really are a quick study. Love your hands, love your lips… Mm, and Sidney? Any time you want to grab a handful of my ass, you do that. In bed or out of it.”

 

    “Oh?” His hand slides down to give Tommy a squeeze. “I’ll do that, then. Maybe just in bed, for now. Or… maybe in that shower.”

 

    “Mm… maybe in that shower, yeah.” Tommy arches his back, pushing up into that touch. “I’ll be honest, I’ve been thinking about you in a shower.”

 

    “Since that last op?” Sidney swallows.

 

    “Yeah. You know you’re cute with your hair all wet.”

 

    He laughs, shaking his head, and he’s not really groping anymore, his hand is just resting there on Tommy’s backside, a warm, gentle weight.

 

    They lie in bed a little longer, just lazily touching, Tommy just breathing in the scent of him, before they seem to come to a mutual agreement on rising. The shower is big enough for two full grown men, but only if they stand very close, a thing neither has any complaints about. The tight fit means for the most part it’s easier to soap up each other than to each take care of themselves, and they don’t complain about that, either.

  
  
    “This as nice as you thought?” Sidney asks, soap-slick hands sliding down Tommy’s back, landing on his ass for a very shameless grope.

 

    “Much nicer. I was trying to keep my imagination, uh… north of the Mason-Dixon line. And I _never_ let myself dream all this…” His hand moving back down between Sidney’s legs, enjoying the weight of him, the feel of him even soft. That little twitch.

 

    “Oh, north of the Mason-Dixon line, I haven’t heard that one before.” Sidney laughs, leans in to kiss him, and it starts out chaste and sweet and turns into a slow heat, but there’s no sense of something building when they’re both so recently satisfied, the kiss is what it is for its own sake. “You, uh… I mean, I guess, you know, now we’ve… You could imagine a lot of things, I think, and that would be… I’d be flattered to think you were, ah, imagining me.”

 

    “Don’t think I could avoid it now. What with having an accurate picture to go back to.” Tommy leers-- throws in a bob of the eyebrows that makes Sidney laugh and kiss him again. “Hope I’ve given you some things to imagine later.”

 

    “You have no idea.”

 

    They dry off after, Tommy leaning against the sink and watching Sidney borrow a brush and hair dryer, watching the slight curl leave his hair once it’s dried and swept back into place. He misses it a little, but he likes it plenty as is dry, leaves his spot to run his fingers through it-- careful not to disturb, this time, as he pulls Sidney in for one more kiss before dressing.

 

    They just make it down from the bunkhouse, and they could look for all the world like nothing had happened except for the fact that Tommy is wearing Sidney’s hat and the two of them are hanging off each other, when they run into Buckaroo and Rawhide.

 

    “Where’d you two get off to today? Feel like you haven’t been around.” Rawhide says, though with a slight smirk that suggests he’s not mystified.

 

    “Target range, little music practice.” Tommy shrugs.

 

    “Oh, up in the bunkhouse?” Buckaroo asks, lifting his eyebrows.

 

    “Oh, that. Well…” Tommy glances over at Sidney.

 

    “Tommy was just, uh, showing me something. In his room. After those other things. You know.”

 

    “Sure. Wasn’t aware Perfect Tommy kept anything interesting in his room.” Rawhide snorts, leaning over to slap Tommy’s back, to deliver a friendly thump to Sidney’s shoulder. “Guess you got the deluxe tour.”

 

    “Hey, man, lay off.” Tommy swats after him, as Sidney ducks his head, ears going pink. “My room’s plenty interesting.”

 

    “Of course it is. Anyway, good to see you out and about, we’ve got to get a couple meetings in this week. Rawhide’s got to head out soon now that everything’s in place for his mission and there’s a couple things to iron out, then Sid, you’re on deck for a couple gigs coming up… We’re just getting everyone together, rehearsal room. Half the boys are waiting there, and now we just need to round up the last couple. Meet you there?”

 

    “Sure thing.” Sidney nods, enthusiastic.

 

    “Oh, and… you might want to take your hat back, if you’re not ready for the boys to make some educated guesses.”

 

    Sidney looks over at Tommy a moment, before reaching up for the hat, only to tweak the brim slightly, smiling.

 

    “Gee, I mean, I don’t know, Buckaroo, I think it… it looks pretty good where it is.” He smiles.

 

    Tommy just smiles back.


End file.
